


One of Us

by stopthedimples



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, God - Freeform, angel - Freeform, joan of arcadia - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopthedimples/pseuds/stopthedimples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17 year old Harry Styles is approached by someone claiming to be an angel. She gives him a mission, get a job. Harrys best friend Louis' dad, new chief of police for Arcadia, is trying to solve the case of a serial killer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Harry has had the same dream three nights in a row. He sees nothing, except red and blue flashing lights, but at the same time feels the strength of something pulling his hair and the illusion of someone whispering in his ear, but there are no words and he can't see anything but the utter blackness around him. 'It's a dream' he tells himself, when he wakes up in a cold sweat and has to remove the duvet from his bed, along with the Grey t-shirt he chose to wear to bed, and the loose sweatpants that have all been sweated through. 

He stops to think that maybe he shouldn't be over at Louis' house for dinner anymore, that his fathers daily stories are a little too much for him. Chief of police can only come with so many gory stories in a day right? Apparently wrong. He thinks the town they live in is small enough and tight enough that there isn't that much crime, but then again maybe he's been wrong all along.

His alarm clock read 6:22. Eight minutes before it's set to go off, so he scoots to the edge of his bed and lets his feet hit the hardwood. He winces at the cool feeling and makes note to take his mother up on her offer to let him have the spare rug from his fathers office. He can already see the smirk on her face when he asks for it, but decides his feet are in desperate need on some warm attention.

He takes his time pulling on a black Ramones t-shirt and a pair of black jeans over his white boxer shorts. Just as he button and zips his alarm blares, pressing him in the direction of downstairs, backpack in hand. He can't remember if he even did his homework last night, probably not. He knows he went to Liams, watched him overwork himself in his home gym and then came home just in time to see his family finishing dinner. He took a plate to his room and then blared his music until he fell asleep.

He remember the faint touch of his mothers lips when she came in to shut his music off and give him a kiss goodnight but to an extent that's about it. 

The breakfast table is already full with the morning 'mood food' his mother likes to call it, and obnoxious noise of his siblings. Gemma is older, about two years, but has been home almost six months now, after her—accident. She had tried to make a career for herself and the rest of the family and ended up grill first into a telephone pole.  
Losing all feeling and movement in her legs could have been the worst part of her life, but she seems to have an amazingly positive attitude that gets her by just enough for the jokes to still be aimed at the size of Harry’s jeans. 

Tabatha who is just two years younger—his parent planned that well—is the epitome of the perfect child. Not that she has the option to be a bad one—there is Gemma who doesn't do anything when she's asked—no legs of course—and Harry who tries to avoid being home period.

“Morning baby.” His mom coos when he enters the kitchen, dragging his feet across the hardwood. He's been the baby since his dad bailed—right before Gemmas accident, not returning for her surgery and not returning when they got the final news. He was just gone—poof. 

“Why do I have a strange feeling that i'm being discussed right now?” He asks when he glances passed his mom, Gemma and Tabatha both faces straight down into their cereal bowls. 

“You have some weird feelings.” Tabatha mutters, taking too big of a bite. “Maybe you should start keeping them to yourself.”

“Maybe you should keep your face to yourself.” He remarks, watching the look on his mothers face drop. He should be paying attention to her as she starts to really give it to him, but his eyes are starting to wander passed her out the kitchen window. He doesn't think he's being reasonable at first then he blinks—and then blinks again and still see—her.  
Her hair is dark and long, down passed her shoulders, with a little curl on the end. Not like she did it herself, but like she has a natural curl to it. She's wearing dark rimmed glasses and has on plain blue jeans and a burgandy sweater. She looks natural—normal--not like someone who should be sneaking around in his back yard. 

“Who is that?” He asks quickly, taking his eyes off the girl and trailing them around the kitchen to meet his mothers. 

“Who is who?” She asks, joining him in front of the window. “I don't see anybody.” She trails off, placing her cup in the sink and joining his sisters at the kitchen table. “Maybe your sister is right about keeping more things to yourself honey.” 

“Why would I make that up. Why would I just say there is a girl in our yard when there isn't. That's—well that is just stupid.”He remarks and then takes a step back, his shoulder bumping against the cool of the refrigerator. 

And then she's gone.

It's like there was no girl, the branches are scraping against the small of the window and there are cherry blossom leaves surrounding the grass where she was standing, no longer green but a adorable pink. 

“Come on love, get some cereal in you before you get off.” 

Harry just shakes his head, propping his bag against his shoulder and heading for the front door. “I'll be back after school, have to go meet Lou!”

He shuts the door just as he hears Gemma yell, “Please excuse Harry from first period, he was hallucinating!” 

-  
Harry spends ten minutes outside of Louis' house drumming on the steering wheel and aimlessly flipping through station after station. He spends ten minutes fidgeting in his hands after Louis gets in the car because he can't find his homework and won't let Harry pull away from the curb until he's sure he has it in his bag.

It takes them ten extra minutes, because Liam let Zayn sleep over and Zayn takes an hour to get out of bed and another hour to get out of the bathroom. So Liam is late, along with Zayn. And Harry who had to pick up both of them and Louis—also late. 

It's a nice blur though, he doesn't pay attention to much of the conversation until they've met up with Niall, a new girl hanging on his arm. A girl who looks like—no it can't be. He swears it's the girl from this morning—the one that might has well been stalking him this morning while he was in the kitchen. 

He tries to pretend that there isn't anything going on, that there isn't anything to sneak a peek at, but she just looks so normal. The guys think so too, because not one of them are having weird vibes about her. 

“Harry.” Her voice is softer than he imagined it to be, but then decides he kind of likes it.

“How do you know my name?” He questions quickly. 

“Niall introduced you like ten minutes ago. Harry..” she pauses, probably trying to decide to go on in front of the others. “Look I have a confession. I may have been peeping on you this morning.”

“Peeping? Don't you think that is a little bit of an understatement don't you think. You almost scared my mother half to death.”He adds feeling the tension grow.

“Don't lie Harry, you were the only one that seen me, your mother was more interested in if Gemma was going to start going out and being social again.” She ignores Harrys stunned face and continues. “Look sometimes you're going to see me and sometimes you're not. But I’m always going to be around, because I need you to do something for me.”  
“What are you talking about? What do you want with me?” He's just about out of breath because he's sure he was holding it while she talked. “I should warn you, Louis' dad is a cop, he's not just any cop he's THE cop.”

“I know who Louis' dad is. He's Andrew Tomlinson, Chief of police, moved here when Louis was nine, coached his school football team. He didn't have a very eventful childhood of his own and strived to start a family, strived to make things better for Louis and he did. He met his mother after she dropped out of community and they've been together almost twenty years. He has four sisters all younger, and a number of cousins he never sees anymore. He's like you in many ways, and that is what has driven you to each other. You're best friends, have been for almost fifteen years. Your older sister is a paraplegic, your younger sister is one of your best friends, although she's too smart for you and it's hard for you to hold a conversation. Your favorite color is red, but you never wear it, you like to collect vintage albums, and you like to put salt on your apples.”

“Who are you?”

“I've known you since before you were born Harry.”

“I'll ask one more time, and then i'm going to class.”

“I'm an angel.”

“Your what?”

“Angel. Down from heaven, super pretty, has a great sense of style. Angel.”

“Alright Angel, how about this. Don't ever talk to me again.”  
-  
He sees her once more in French when he's sure he's suppose to be working on the review but his mind is completely off the rails. She's just outside the classroom window and is smugger than ever.

“Mr. Styles can you answer the next set of questions for the class?”His teacher asks, he's a small man of about sixty and was sure to have retired years ago. 

“Seems as though I can't.” He remarks, glancing towards the window again.

“And why is that?” 

“Um, because I don't speak french.”  
-

“Detention again!” Louis shrieks when he passing him in the hall, pink slip in hand.

“What can I say Lou, the teacher didn't appreciate my intelligent ENGLISH answers.” 

“Your mom is going to piss herself,” Harry laughs, but realistically he's not looking forward to that.  
-  
“Harry Edward Styl...”

“Mom.”

“Don't Mom me, this is your third detention this month. You'd think a kid whose mom works in the office would keep himself out of trouble! You're lucky i'm a member of the staff here, we'll deal with this at home.”

So his mom working as the principles assistant isn't the best thing, but it's nice to know she—cares right?

Cares enough but doesn't blink when she walks in—thats right angel—or whatever her real name is—does she have a real name?

“I always wondered the meaning behind detention. I mean it's suppose to make you learn a lesson right? Doesn't seem like you've learned it.” She's peppy and a little too happy, and doesn't seem to know all, like they say.

“Angel right?”

“You can call me that. But I do have a name. Abby. Well Abigail, you know from the bible.”

“You're kidding right? I mean angels aren't real.”

“Harry Styles, you can believe whatever you want to believe, but I'm not going anywhere except right here with you. I know you believe me.”

He sighs and then looks around to see who is watching. Nobody, his mom is ocupied at her desk and the door to the other offices are closed.  
“I don't believe you.”

“Sure you do. You have a hunch.”

“No I don't.”

“How about you believe me if I forget about that promise you broke.”

Harry stops breathing, moving, talking. “What promise?”

“Lets see I think I read that it said, you would study harder, get a job, maybe even go to church if the big man upstairs let your sister live.”

Suddenly he feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest. The memories flooding back and the darkness shifting through his veins again. How did she know that? He never said it out loud, never spoke it to anybody else, not one of the boys, not his Mom.

“Okay so lets say you're an angel.”

“Thank you.” She beams clearly happy that she's collected grasp.

“I want to ask you some questions.”

“No.”

“No?” 

“I ask the questions. That's just how it is.” 

Harry stops to think what to ask—rephrase into a question—next. Angels are snippy. Not the way he would have expected them to be.

“I know what you're thinking. Is it weird that you're attracted to me? No, I come in a lot of different forms. Don't fret, just don't bother to tell me any of your god awful dreams, which by the way are quite scary. I just need you to run some errands for me. There is a record store about three blocks from here, I want you to get a job.”

“Why?”

“It's about a minute drive, don't bring your friends with, i'm sure you can think of an excuse for them to get their own rides.”

“And if I don't am I going to be eaten by snakes, or burst into flames or something?”

She laughs, actually laughs like it's a joke, even though he does think exactly that.

“Bye Harry. Have a good rest of—detention. I'll be seeing you around.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry enrolls in advanced-placement chemistry, after Angel asks him to stop being an underachiever. Not to mention—she mentions the chess team needs a new player.

“Why didn't you get the job at the store like I asked you to?” Angel—Abagial asks him the next moring when he's flipping through his history book on the front steps.

“You know I prayed last night. Prayed that you were a dream and I'd get to have some sort of life that wasn't so weird.”

She smirks and drops her bag—along with her body down on the steps next to him. “Harry I know what you pray for—angel remember—and you did not pray for that. In fact you tried to train your brain not to pray at all, in fear that I could hear you. Guess what. I can.”

“Right okay, what did I have for dinner?” 

“Your mom was working late, Tabatha was at a friends, and Gemma was sulking in her room. You made yourself a cup of noodle and procrastinated your homework.”   
Harry mumbles something about her just being a stalker and gets up to leave her. Just before her hand meets his wrist and he's pulled back down. Her face reads something alone the lines of annoyance, but changes to quickly for him to really study.

“I want you to join advanced-placement chemistry. It's third period and I know that is your free period.”

“No—I, no. That is my free time and I don't even like chemistry. No.” He puffs his chest a little and makes himself feel more powerful than her. 

“Get the job and join chemistry. Don't fight with me Harry, i'm doing this for the greater good.” 

“Greater good? And if I don't?” He asks a subtle smirk on his face.

“You will.”

-

The record store is just as he imagined, it's old, broken down, and the manager is a complete ass. He's tall and bald, and kind of reminds Harry of his Uncle Larry but brushes off the idea when he remembers that Larry was just like his father.

“You have to be able to see over the counter to work here.” The owner—Mark remarks before walking off towards the 80's hair bands section. 

Harry huffs loudly because he knows that if he walks out of here and doesn’t get the job he'll have to listen to Abigail go on about how he's going to burn in hell—or whatever. He scans his mind for something that would help him get the job and recalls just the smallest of details.

“I'm 17, i've had plenty of jobs before and I know music. I know old music—and—new music. I just know music.”

Mark sighs. “What is the best one hit wonder of the 90's?”

“Uh sex and candy?” That was a good one. And Mark seems pleased with his answer. 

“Do you know who James Taylor is?” 

“He sings Fire and Rain right?”

“Hmph. You do kind of look like Mick Jagger I guess. Okay, you can have the job, you work til six today and then we'll see if you're fit to be back tomorrow.”  
Harry smiles, because he's finally doing something that he might actually get credit for.

“Look Styles your first customer.” Mark winks and disappears into the classical section leaving Harry to his first cu—her. 

“”What are you doing here?” He asks sharply a harsh whisper just in case Mark is in ear shot of him. 

“Hello, messages from God. Have you not been paying attention?” She laughs at her own joke—typical. “Oh you mean here, well I was in dire need of a new cd, and wanted a place out of the rain for me to eat this nice orange.” 

He nods his head as she tosses the orange in front of herself, eyeing around for Mark he guesses and settles into one of the sitting chairs in front of a listening booth. 

"Although they have gross skin that I have to peel off, and that white stuff—”

“Pith.”

“What.”

“The white stuff is called pith.” 

“God almighty, Harry Styles knows something I don't.”

“Aren't you going to get into trouble for using His name in vein or something, like struck by lightning?”

“Hardly, God doesn't normally strike his own angels, you know don't want another man downstairs sort of things.” She blinks completely serious and then brushes off her skirt, standing just in front of him. “Join Chemistry, it will be good for you, Zayn and that girl Liam likes are in there you'll have fun.” 

“Wait Zayn is in chemistry? He never mentioned that?”

“Exactly why you are going to join, he needs a friend.”

“We are friends.”

“He needs a better friend.”

-

He notices that he's tapping his foot rather loudly while he waits for the teacher to intriduce him, not that he needs it, every eye in the classroom is already on him. Zayns who looks like he's about to combust from the inside out, Danielle who is sitting two seats over with her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. 

And the worst of it all—Tabatha sitting dead center in the front row tapping her pencil against her notebook silently hoping he's just here to bring something to the teacher.   
“Class this is Harry Styles, he's going to be joining us for the rest of the year.” She ruffles his hair and points him towards the empty seat between Zayn and Danielle, “You can sit there between Zayn and Dani. Play nice.”

The teacher jumped right into some sort of definition of ionic reactions and Harry can't even seem to focus enough to listen to her, he's so out of his comfort zone. 

-

That night at the dinner table his mother intentionally making them all eat together starts to speak.

“Why not for the fun of it, everyone say a good thing that happened to them today.” 

Gemma pipes up then, “If you want to know if I looked for a job you could have just asked. And the answer is no, I haven't.” 

“Okay Tabatha. Go on.”

“I didn't laugh when Harry was introduced to my Chemistry class, although in my head a little.” She smirks.

Harry just mumbles a Tabatha took mine, before trailing his eyes back down to his food. “I'm no taking chemistry with the overachievers. Moving on Gemma your turn.”  
His mom quickly pipes in about a job she's heard about where there isn't too much moving around and they all watch as Gemma rolls her eyes in annoyance. It lasts just long enough for the doorbell to ring and Harry to jump clear out of his chair to get it.

He doesn't like long family discussions.

It's Zayn at the door, Danielle standing right behind him, almost completely hidden behind his broader body.   
“Hello?” He asks tentively.

“Chem homework, we are a group you know.”

“Right well come in, we can study in the office.” Both peers nodding and following him straight passed the kitchen door and into the small office—once his fathers. They spread out multiple books and start to work.

Well kinda.

Harry doesn't do much just reads out the equations and watches as Zayn mixed them in his head and blurts out the answer.

“Jesus Zayn you're really smart, how come you never said anything about it before?” Dani remarks and then just nods when Zayn just shrugs and goes back to his own paper. Harry isn't sure how Zayn learns anything just knows that he draws a lot during class and doesn't talk much when they're all sat together at lunch.

Tabatha pops in just as Zayn reads off the last equation to their home test. “Who knew you were smart.” 

“I have an iedetic memory.” He whispers turning striaght back to his book.

Harry and Dani both give out simultanious 'huhs' and wait for one of the others to give them a proper answer. “Lets just call it photographic.”

“You don't think you could have mentioned that earlier?” Harrys asks shaking his head in disbelief, but continues to listen as Zayn spurts out a random combination of formulas through his thin lips.

“Wait—but what does that mean?” 

“Means were done! Right on time, I got somewhere to be.” Dani smiles and then she's out of her chair and out the front door.

Zayn stops and looks around, eyeing Tabatha and the path the Danielle had just taken to escape and quickly pats Harry on the back and follows straight behind her. Mumbling a 'see ya later mate' over his shoulder.

“Mom wants you to take out the recycling. Like yesterday.” Tabatha smirks—that family smirk—and the prances back into the living room. 

Harry takes a second to gather his thoughts—this angel girl—becoming closer with Zayn—and now chemistry, he doesn't get it. Where does all of this help him, where does he even fit into this equation. Sure he's had a different life, not anything his other friends have experienced, but his an average kid. Average grades, average clothes, average family—well kind of.

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, recycling and then he's going straight to bed—he's had enough of today.

The recycling is full of course, like tipping over so he can barely see where he is walking, not that it mattered there were enough pot holes to soak his shoes if he could see anyways.

“Hi Harry!” Not only was he completely startled, but completely confused on why there was a girl in his back alley—oh wait, it was her.

“Jesus Christ you scared the shit out of me.” 

“You're going to go to hell with that mouth.” She laughed tossing her hair over her shoulder. 

“You can't be here.”

“And yet I am.”

“Tosser.” He mumbles back dropping the recycling into the garbage. “If you're an angel why are you dressed like you're in the artic?” He asks eyeing her big coat and scarf.

“I was in the artic today, well Minnesota, same thing.”

“Right sure.”

“Hey I know that sometimes when you're in your room that hideous Titanic song makes you cry.”

He tosses his head back at his, shaking it slightly. “Why do you have to be so mean?”

“Why do you keep questioning me, mmost people would be on their best behavior.”\

“Okay so i've been thinking, is this like a thing you do because I want something. Is this like you make me join chemistry so that I can become a scientist and find a cure for my sister. Or is this like some sick game and i'm up on a jumbo tron in heaven?”

“First you don't need to let me in on your thinking i'm—omnitiant.” 

“Whatever, what do you want tonight?”

“I just thought I'd pop in and tell you that you should sleep with your socks off because you always manage to kick them off anyways—oh and there is a certain club that is accepting new members. It meets in the basement during lunch, be there tomorrow.”

-

“So my dad has this new big arson case, well it's not his really but he's been working on it. Anyways it looks like he's going to arrest the district attorney.” Louis exclaims earning wide eyes from Liam and a high five from Niall.

“Turns out he set fire to an old building for property insurance and there was a man inside that died, that's like homicide and—Harry are you listening to me?” 

Harry shakes his head quickly even though his eyes are trained towards the basement hallway. “Your dad is going to get a lot of shit when he arrests the district attorney. Yeah I heard you.”

“Seriously man where is your head lately, you joined chemistry and got that shitty job, like what's up.”

“Nothing man, i'm just stressed, look i've got something to do. I'll catch you guys later for movies okay?” He's gone before he can get a proper answer though, jogging towards his new destination.

The hallway is dark and a little colder than the cafeteria—and it's just what you would except of a hallway that leads down to the basement. But at the end of the hall there is only one room—chess club.

'No' Harry thinks, he isn't jooining chess club—he can't even play chess. He's not doing this, he's not going to humilate himself in front of his friends—not to mention the entire school. No.

“You here for the chess team sir?” 

“I—uh—I guess I am.” He studders following the slim man—history teacher—into the dimly lit room.

“You can play against Samual over there, he doesn't have a partner today.” Great.

Samuel is slim—slimmer than Harry and has brown rimmed glasses, perched on the edge of his nose. He doesn't talk or even make eye contact when Harry sits down in front of him, just clicks the timer and makes his first move.

Harry doesn't know how to play chess and tries his hardest to pretend that he does, but he's still making random moves when the teacher comes back over towards their table.  
“Mr. Styles! Wow I never thought you'd be the one to play chess and be so—wonderful at it.” He exclaims leaning over his table, his shadow casting over the pieces.   
“I don't know how to play chess.” He mumbles.

“That explains why you just won then?” The teacher remarks, a bright smile on his face. “Looks like we have our last member for the competition next week.”  
“You've got to be kidding me.” 

“Afraid not Harry, you're a natural. The ladies in the office will love to hear this one—oh your mom is in the office. Why don't you go tell her?”  
Harry shakes his head, because the last thing he wants to do is tell his mom he's' turned into some sort of nerd. And then what happens when his friends find out? He's going to be a bigger loser than Zayn—even though he doesn't see him as one—everyone eles does.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry trys out for the football team because Angel says it will be good for it. But it’s not good it sucks but he makes it work and ends up making it through first round of try outs. But what happens when he starts to abandoned his friends because of it? And what happens when he gets in the middle of some footie drama? Friends start to give him shit because of it. Players gets hurt by another and make him quit because it isn’t worth it.

Harry doesn’t stick to the chess thing for too long, at least tries really hard to just stay away from the room entirely. But it still gets brought up to his mom which earns him a great speech at dinner about finally doing something education, and relentless snickers from his sisters.

He spends the whole night and much of the next morning rolling around in his bed, listening to the same music over and over again until he can’t take it anymore and showers and gets ready for work. Never thought he’d actually have a job to go to on the weekends, yet here he is perched behind the warn down counter checking in rented cd’s.

He smirks at an old Aerosmith album that he’s had since he was pretty much born, a gift from his dad, one of the first gifts he got. He now has it directly on his ipod and doesn’t have too have too much hassle to shift through the songs.

Choosing that particular one to play through the shops speakers.

He works hard—well hard enough for the next hour. Rifling through the 60’s section and placing everything back into alphabetical order. Smirking when he finishes half an hour earlier than he had planned to. His smirk kind of fading when the bell rings at the front of the shop.

It’s her. Of course it’s her—they never get any real customers. Her hair is tied in a bun and she’s wearing a baggy black t shirt, over some equally black leggings.

“You look very—gothic.” He laughs, moving back behind the counter and taking a seat.

She scoffs, “Do you even know what Gothic really means Harry Styles?” He just blinks and then starts up the laptop in front of him. “Didn’t think so. Anyways my point is this, I have a new task for you. You know since you did so well keeping the chess team thing going.”  
“I’m actually not doing anymore tasks. I can’t—what is the point of them again?”He asks, slightly breathless, although he’s not sure at all why.

“I already told you. They will help you eventually, and they’re helping other people.”

“Like who?”  
“Well you helped Zayn, you don’t know it but you did. When he came over to work with you—without me he wouldn’t have come over at all—he missed his dads drunken spree. He went to bed bruise free that night.” She smiles. “All thanks to you Harry Styles.”

He mouth is agape just at the mere thought of Zayns father being abusive. They’ve been friends—not close—but friends for almost…six years. And he never even thought Zayn could come from something like that.

“Plus that kid you played chess with the other day. Samuel. He’s never had someone start a conversation with him before. Never. And you did. He had something to talk about at dinner with his Grandmother this weekend. You’re changing peoples lives, because you’re doing what I ask. That is why.”

He sighs and blinks against the cool tears that are forming behind his eyes. Because he’s okay with helping people. It’s—nice. Something he’s never had before. “So what is next?”

“Well the footie team is having try outs. I want you to try out.”

“No.” He laughs, tossing his head back and breaking eye contact. “I don’t play anymore. And besides i’m not even good at it.”

“I know you don’t play. But your dad is gone harry and he’s not coming back..”

“Don’t bring my dad into this.” She doesn’t stop to listen to him and keeps going.

“You can’t just stop doing something you love because someone you love left you. Doesn’t play with you anymore. That is quite selfish of you Harry.”

He can instantly feel the tears prickle at the front of his eyes. She’s just gone too far. If she knows all then she knows about his dad, knows what he did. And she can’t use that against him.

“Get out.” He breaths, moving off the stool and out from behind the counter. “I’m going to go get a box that needs to be unpacked and I want you gone by the time I come back.”

-

When Harry gets back from the storage room, she’s gone. A little sticky note pasted to the top of his laptop, ‘Try out for the team, it will do you some good x’

He crumples the paper and tosses it in the bin next to him. And then he cries until it’s time to lock up. Cries for Samuel, who never had a real friend, or someone to talk to. Cries for Zayn who is probably fearing his fathers wrath right now. Cries for his bastard of a father, and cries for himself. Because he’s stuck in the worst position and doesn’t know how to get out.


End file.
